Dragon God Chronicles IV: Binding Chains
by Jessi D
Summary: A task leads a godchild to old acquaintances whilest trouble and dark times loom in the domain of Tiamet.
1. Chapter I

**Jessi:**** I do not own the Forgotten Realms but these characters are mine and mine alone! It is highly recommended to read the previous three Chronicles before this one.**

Hello and welcome to the penultimate Chronicle – the fourth book of Chel and Vale's story: Binding Chains!

Thank you for taking the time to read this story.

Please enjoy! (bow)

* * *

There was, on the world known as Aber-Toril, on the continent known as Faerun, a range of mountains so high and sheer-faced that they were considered impassable to all those without wings. But hidden among those peaks, cut off from the rest of the world was a wooded valley. Centuries ago a colony of outcast elves had been led to this place, out of their exodus, by an avatar of Tiamet himself. They had thrived here, their home protected by the Dragon God's spells and by the new strains of sorcerer blood that arose. 

Currently the product of one of those sorcerer lines, the strongest of them all, was walking through the pre-dawn mist.

She did not look like a powerful magic user at the moment. She was small and slender, clad in a simple white robe, and had a pretty face framed by long, blonde hair. But her bright blue eyes were intelligent and as she walked forward she remained in the centre of a circle of mist-free air. For despite appearances she was a clerical prodigy, the youngest high priestess ever to be chosen, as well as a gifted sorceress. Not only that but as heir to the throne she had other, unique powers at her disposal.

But none of those things mattered, not today at least.

Vale looked up as her goal came into view, releasing her clear air spell as the mist began to vanish with the arrival of the sun.

Her destination was a wide circle of trees set on top of a hill. Inside the circle, alcoves had been cut into the still-living trees with magic. Six of these had been filled with white marble statues, perfectly carved representations of all those monarchs that had gone to their rest. She bowed slightly towards them and headed for the seventh alcove.

There was no statue here but there was a small simple plaque and Vale knelt before it. Her fingers gently traced the name inscribed onto it and she smiled sadly,

"Hello Mother."

* * *

The sun was higher in the sky when the other elf made his way to the circle of trees. He bore a strong resemblance to the young priestess, the same bright blue eyes, the same fine features and long blonde hair, grown out until it reached his waist. There was also the same youthful vitality about him, even though this elf, Kerova, father of Vale and ruler of this hidden civilisation, was nearing the end of his fourth century. 

He did not enter the Memorial Circle like his daughter but instead lingered just inside the entrance. The elf king's eyes took only a few moments to become accustomed to the shady interior and immediately his eyes went to the kneeling form of Vale.

Lit by the mellow shafts of light that past the roof of branches and with her hands clasped in prayer she was an image taken straight a window of stained glass, both beautiful and fragile. Yet she seem removed from the brighter world outside, a statue of a holy saint or an ephemeral spirit.

Kerova shivered slightly at his thoughts and moved inside to stand by his daughter.

A strand of alabaster silk wrapped itself around his wrist and gently drew him back towards the entrance. The male relented, his eyes following the white strand up.

Chel sat in the boughs of a tree, his black robes spilling elegantly towards the ground and his long tresses splayed across the trunk behind him like a snowy halo.

One hand gestured outside and Kerova stepped out into the sunlight. A few seconds later Chel teleported beside him, his eyes still fixed on his ward as she prayed.

"It doesn't seem fair, does it?"

Chel's eyes moved from Vale to the monarch as he broke the silence.

"Vale isn't responsible… It… it was no one's fault. I mean… why she should have to do… do…"

"A Murderer's Penance?" came the immortal's voice, whisper-quiet but as clear as day, "Isiarll died in childbirth and the old superstitions still held among the elders then."

"Could she just stop?"

"No," Chel shook his head, his gaze returning to Vale, "She would not. But it is her choice and her choice alone," he turned fully towards Kerova, the smile on his face infinitely sad and beautiful, "It is after all, her empathy that makes her so powerful in the divine arts."

Kerova was grateful to move from this painful subject, after all this time his wife's death still tore at him,

"The Imperial Guardian speaks the praises of one so young? Is she really that powerful?"

"Yes," came the answer without hesitation, "she is so strong and yet still so young. Perhaps the time will come when she no longer has need of our protection…" he trailed off and turned away, his smile gone, but his eyes still so sad.

* * *

Vale opened her eyes, unclasping her hands and allowing her holy symbol to fall onto her chest. The delicate icon, the five pointed star of Tiamet, was warm, not through the heat of her hands but as a reminder of her deity's presence. In the dim shade of the Memorial Circle it also shed a soft silvery light, which did make her task much easier. 

She frowned slightly at the concept. Would that be considered slightly blasphemous? The young cleric wondered what the deity himself would say and laughed out loud at the thought.

If she lived to be a thousand she would never grow used to fighting beside deities, speaking to them on equal terms and travelling back and forth the very planes.

There was a flash of silver in the corner of her eye and she turned slightly to see her guardian kneel beside her. His robes was his finest, pitch-black in colour as always but with the tiny indulgence of fine silver embroidery across the flowing train and voluminous sleeves.

The elves of this forest knew him as Chel, ancient guardian to the royal Aeacus line and head of the church. More recently they knew him as the lover of the princess Vale, something that remained the subject of gossip, both accepting and unkind, even after several months. The young cleric was, in all probability, the only mortal soul on Faerun that knew him as Chelevva Pendragon, the son of Tiamet and the dead goddess Kereska.

His hands slid from the depths of his sleeves and he placed his palms together. When he brought them apart a single fragrant lily hung there and he placed it among the white poppies Vale had arranged in front of the simple metal plague.

The tablet read in its entirety:

_Isiarll_

_Wife to Kerova Aeacus_

This was the only memorial of the lovely queen. The bodies of the dead were burnt and their ashes given over to the wind, their names carved into the living wood as an eternal monument.

There were so many now, mused the white-haired guardian, and of course there were the statues.

Ever since Jeluna the Battle Queen and the pact between them he had been bound mentally to the royal line. He had known them all, better than anyone else on Toril and now…

He shook his head slightly as if to banish his dark thoughts and returned his gaze to the flowers in front of him. But against his will his eyes slid up to empty alcove that would one day hold the statue of Kerova and the next one along that would hold…

A slim golden hand gripped his hair and roughly pulled his head away. His _koishii_, his beloved, was suddenly wrapped around him, her arms around him physically and as a presence in his mind, soothing the darker emotion within him.

Empathy, thought Chel and if Vale overheard that reflection then she didn't press the issue.

* * *

**Jessi:** Ah, it's good to be back. 

**Please read and review.**


	2. Chapter II

**Jessi:** Ah! Exams, exams, exams! But thankfully they're halfway done. :)

* * *

Casathend, the Fortress of Jewels, was what outsiders would call the capital city of this civilisation. It was the largest of the settlements in the sprawling forest, founded by the first monarch, Jeluna. She had named this place, not only for its outstanding natural beauty but also for the fact that it was built for defence.

Nearly every home was built on top of or actually inside a tree, reached by spiralling staircases and slender walkways. The wide avenues had been used many times as killing grounds for archers and sorcerers ranged on the upper walkways. Everything was built around the white marble fortress of the Temple, which had seen off several sieges since its creation.

All this was a survival trait forcefully hammered into these people throughout their history: from the Exodus; to the seizing of this valley; to orc invasions from the tunnels underneath the mountains; to the recent undead plague, these elves had one struggle after another.

Yet, flying amid the bright lances of sunlight piercing the canopy, Chel felt such peace from the elves below him. He smiled to himself. Vale, walking along the street below, must have noticed his pleasant mood as her voice manifested itself in his head, wanting to know what had inspired it.

_I was thinking of __Casathend_, Chel beat his wings to put on a burst of speed as he dodged a wyvern coming towards him. The guardian often flew like this, under an invisibility spell, mainly to avoid attention but he also secretly took pleasure in the aerial acrobatics as he evaded other flyers.

_And not me? _Vale's mental voice feigned disappointment, _I suppose it's only natural. You were here when Casa' was founded. Feeling our age are we?_

_Such impertinence! Towards an elder, no less!_

The young cleric's laughter floated up towards Chel and attracted the attention of other elves on the street. Two males, around Vale's age, paid particular attention to her and the slim curves outlined against-

The princess jumped as her guardian suddenly appeared at her side.

"Is something the matter?" she asked, looking from side to side.

Chel, satisfied that the two males had been frightened off (though inwardly he squirmed in embarrassment at the wave of petty jealousy rising up within him), offered her his hand,

"It is nearly noon. You can not be late for the Tribunal _kioshii_."

Vale bit her lip and took the hand, squeezing it as the immortal teleported them both away.

* * *

The Tribunal took place in a spacious room within the Temple. Huge windows of stained glass dominated one wall. Before that was a raised platform on which stood an elegant arch of a table – the nine seats behind it empty for now.

The other seats were plain stone benches that rose in tiers on the opposite wall. These were rapidly filling up with members of the clergy – from the senior priests to the novices and acolytes. A mummer of conversation hung over the room and several elves present kept glancing towards the doors, either the entrance at the top of the tiers or the small golden one set between the stained glass windows.

Kerova sat on one of the front benches, along with his four bodyguards. He hid his anxiety beneath a neutral façade but his hands had dug into the fine fabric of his robes.

In this matter he could not interfere. This was in Vale's hands now.

To take his mind from it he swept his blue eyes across the benches behind him. It seemed every priest and acolyte had attended. Even the few that lived a hermit-like existence outside Casathend had come, looking deeply uncomfortable in their formal robes.

All conversation ceased abruptly as two slim figures appeared in the doorway. One was Vale, in the full regalia of a high priestess, her princess' circlet, a slim band of silver, on her head and her long hair pinned up away from her face. The other figure was, as always, Chel. The robes he'd been wearing this morning had been exchanged for a similar set with discrete silver clasps and more fine embroidery across the flowing skirts and sleeves.

Though the sheer number of eyes trained on her must have unnerved the young cleric she did well to hide it and she swept elegantly down the stairs to the single chair in front of the Tribunal's seats.

Chel's usual place in these proceedings was a single, plain chair set aside and behind the table. He did not take that place now but instead stood behind Vale, the symbolism obvious.

No sooner had they settled then the small golden door opened and nine elves entered.

* * *

Vale had stood before the Tribunal twice before in her short lifetime.

The first time was at the tender age of fifteen when they had tested her for her recently discovered clerical potential. The second time was at the age of twenty-five when they again tested her to see if she truly was ready to become a fully-fledged priestess after just ten years of training.

And now they would test her for the third time to see if she was worthy to assume the mantle of high priestess.

She swallowed as the nine high clerics – the most senior priests – took their seats. None of them was younger than five hundred and all of them had served as high clerics for longer than Vale had been alive.

Chel had discussed the Tribunal with her in the days leading up to this meeting. Out of the nine, one was friendly towards her and two were neutral. Four were suspicious of her rapid rise through the priesthood and two were openly hostile towards her.

The current Speaker of the Tribunal was Othello, an aged high priest and one of the neutral members. He got to his feet slowly and bowed towards Chel,

"My lord Imperial Guardian, are you not watching over the Tribunal today?"

Chel moved out to stand beside Vale,

"I will be serving today," his voice was whisper-quiet but carried clearly throughout the hall, "in my capacity as the tutor of Vale Aeacus and not as a Church official."

Othello nodded,

"Very well," he then turned to Vale, "At your request this Tribunal was postponed, as a formality I must ask you to give a reason for this."

The young princess dug her hands into her robes,

"It was my mother's deathday."

"Your birthday, I believe," said a voice from the left of Othello, though Vale, her eyes kept on the Speaker, did not see who it was.

"The reason offered is acceptable. Then let this session of the Tribunal commence."

* * *

**Jessi:** The actual Tribunal will be next chapter. Otherwise this chapter will be much too long.


	3. Chapter III

**Jessi:** I'm glad that everyone likes the story so far. It's good to know :)

The name Othello doesn't mean anything Iceheart Firesoul, I just like the name. I don't know anything about _Othello_. I would have done it at A-level but my school switched to a different Shakespeare play (_King Lear_).

* * *

Othello clasped his hands together, a motion repeated by all present,

"Lord Tiamet, look upon us, your mortal servants. Bless us, so that our eyes see clearly and nothing but truths fall from our lips. We look to your wisdom."

He finished and his eyes scanned the sheet of parchment before him,

"Vale Aeacus, you have been a priestess of Tiamet for twenty-five years, correct?"

Vale's first reply caught in her throat. She cleared her throat and tried again,

"Y-yes."

"Closer to twenty-six now, I would say, Miss Vale."

Vale's reply was swallowed by a small scream of outrage,

"Show some respect Othello! You address the Crown Princess in that manner?" Jeasrin, shook her head, running a hand through her cropped grey hair, "Such disrespect!"

She was the cleric most friendly towards Vale on the Tribunal and had been a trusted advisor to her grandfather until his death where she turned away from the court to concentrate on Clergy matters.

Personally the young princess liked Jeasrin but she was often overbearing in defence of the royal family. It could only end up hurting her cause if she was thought to be hiding behind her title and birthright.

"Please!" Vale managed to speak before both Othello and Jeasrin and both turned once more in her direction. She could feel their gaze, as well as those of the seated Clergy behind her, as an almost palpable force on her and her hands, hidden in her voluminous sleeves, trembled, "I am not here as royalty but as a member of the Clergy under questioning by the Tribunal. It is as it should be."

The Speaker smiled widely,

"Well said priestess. Shall we return to business, then?"

Jeasrin, placated for now, returned to her seat and a soft mummer of approval floated down from the tiers.

"Priestess Vale Aeacus, in the recent undead invasion of Casathend you displayed power, maturity and wisdom worthy of a high priestess. If this Tribunal judged you on these qualities alone then there would be no doubt towards your status as a high cleric of this Church.

"However, though there is certainly no misunderstanding your abilities there have been suspicions regarding… the means…" Othello had kept his eyes fixed rigidly on Vale during his speech, though now his eyes flicked briefly to the silent guardian at her shoulder, "…through which you obtained this power.

"Since we, the most senior of the Clergy, could not come to an unanimous decision regarding this matter, we have called this Tribunal to allow you a chance to defend against these accusations and argue your case.

"What say you to these accusations priestess?"

Vale got to her feet. Her mind was racing, running through all her prepared speeches. She could also feel Chel on the edges of her mind, and though he appeared calm on the surface, inwardly he was furious.

"H-honoured Tribunal, my fellow members of the Clergy, with the greatest respect, I must protest! I have been nothing but loyal to the Church and to my lord Tiamet. When have I given you cause to doubt my–"

"We have plenty cause to doubt you," one Tribunal member rose to his feet and Vale's heart sank as she recognised Hallarn.

Usually tall and strongly built for an elf, Hallarn towered over the rest of the Tribunal and his hand rested on the handle of the silvery mace which never left his side. He was the main critic of Vale's rapid rise through the priesthood and, although he could not sway the others to outright hatred, he was charismatic enough to install enough doubt to call Vale's abilities into question.

"A priestess at twenty and now high cleric? At fifty years of age?" Hallarn snorted, "Something that takes centuries to achieve she does in scant decades-"

"And this is a joyous event," interrupted Chel. The white-haired immortal moved gracefully forward to address the rest of the Tribunal, "Should we not celebrate the fact that such a prodigy exists among us?"

Hallarn levelled an accusatory finger at the guardian,

"And there, do you see? Can your so-called _prodigy_ not speak for herself?"

Chel's eyes narrowed,

"As the tutor of Vale Aeacus I have the right to defend my student against-"

"_With all due respect_, my Lord Imperial Guardian," Othello stood again, "you role as tutor does not permit you to argue for your student here. She is the one we have called to stand before the Tribunal, not you. With the greatest respect, my Lord, I must ask you not to disrupt this Tribunal hearing and to assume a seat with the assembled Clergy and witnesses."

For a heartbeat Chel stood stock-still. Then finally he replied,

"I will comply with the Tribunal's wishes."

The Speaker let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

Chel started towards the tiers but paused in front of Hallarn's seat,

"But I will not tolerate overt antagonism towards my student either. Remember that."

Othello opened and closed his mouth as though he couldn't decide whether to risk going against the Imperial Guardian a second time. Before he reached a decision, however, the immortal spun away, sweeping gracefully towards the tiers.

Kerova bit his lip, his eyes fixed on his child, now alone before the Tribunal. Two of his bodyguards shifted urgently to give Chel room next to the monarch and the white-haired male settled, his wings folding themselves with a final snap.

Vale didn't watch him go. She had other business.

"I think you'll find priestess that not even your guardian's political power can save you here. This Tribunal will find the truth," Hallarn smirked.

"You seem overly concerned with power, sir. Can it be that you are motivated by fear for your own?" Vale snapped.

"Miss Aeacus!" the Speaker's protest was cut off by Hallarn,

"I worked for this! All of this we gained by our own two hands!" the older cleric stopped and seemed to calm himself but then he smiled, though it was not a friendly one, "At least, priestess," he added slowly, "I did not whore myself to get where I am."

"Hallarn!" another protest, this time from both Othello and Jeasrin, but it was largely concealed by the noise from the tiers. There were some voices speaking in shocked tones, a few with anger. Some were brimming with glee and there was even a small amount of melodic laughter. The Speaker was trying to restore order but failing and Chel was growling, his hair beginning to writhe through the air.

A loud bang and a flash of platinum light abruptly silenced the crowd.

Vale lowered her hand and let her holy symbol fall back onto her chest,

"If it would please this honoured Tribunal I believe that I have a solution…" she paused, "I ask for permission to undertake Shetoul's Run."

The noise returned in full force and again was silenced by another bang, this time from Othello. The older priest's blue eyes never left those of the princess.

"You realise, Miss Aeacus, that we cannot allow you and your honoured guardian-"

"I am fully aware of this. And I will undertake this on my own, without the help of the Imperial Guardian."

The room was silence, in total contrast to the noise that had filled it a moment ago. The Speaker sighed,

"This is the course of action you have chosen? And you are certain of this?"

"I am."

Another sigh. Then Othello rose to his feet,

"Nine times Shetoul's Run has been used in Clergy matters, a clear precedent. Are there any objections from my fellow Tribunal members?"

In the face of silence from the other high clerics, Othello sighed,

"For the final time, are you certain of this course of action?"

"Yes."

"So be it. One-"

"No! I will not allow this!" Chel teleported before the Tribunal, his hair coiling through the air, seemingly of its own will.

"Honoured guardian, it is the decision of the student to-"

"_She is just a child_!" the white-haired immortal brought both his fists down onto the table, his preternatural strength causing cracks to spread across the marble surface.

"_Be that as it may_, it is the decision of Miss Vale Aeacus! The Tribunal has stood behind this decision before and will do so again!"

Vale heard Chel turn, could feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes adverted.

_This cannot be your choice koishii! There are other ways-_

_This is my decision, Chel,_ only then did Vale lift her face towards her guardian and immediately she wished she hadn't.

The guardian's unnaturally beautiful face looked stunned and betrayed. His pupils had formed into slits, an outward sign of distress.

Abruptly he vanished, having teleported away and all Vale could do was watch him go.

* * *

**Jessi:** Ah! So much dialogue. So much formal speech. Hee! Everyone in this scene was talking like Chel does all the time :D Let us all shun the contractions! Haha!


	4. Chapter IV

**Jessi:** Sorry for all the dialogue. But we shall get to more action really soon I promise, Triaxx. Also Iceheart Firesoul your review was scarily astute. Get out of my head! ;p

* * *

"_One tenday from today Vale Aeacus shall descend and undertake Shetoul's Run. If it is Tiamet's will that you survive we shall take and honour this as a sign of your worthiness to assume the mantle of high priestess._

"_May Tiamet watch over you, priestess."_

* * *

Three days of Vale's allotted time had past. She'd spent most of it in the Temple, praying and meditating on the task before her. She also spent a good amount of time carefully selecting her spells in advance, trying to plan for every eventuality. Finally the scant reminder of her time she gave to resting her body with food and sleep.

All of this she did alone – her guardian had not been seen since the day of the Tribunal though the rest of the population assumed that Chel was working with the young princess on planning her descent into Shetoul's Run.

Vale had returned home alone after the Tribunal. Naturally she had felt guilty at her cold behaviour towards the immortal and had gone straight to their shared bedchamber with every intention of apologising.

However, the door were locked and remained so, even after multiple applications of magic and one futile attempt at force.

At first Vale was frantic with worry which was only exasperated by the mental silence between herself and Chel.

But later, when she had returned to her long-vacant bedroom and lay awake in her bed, that anxiety turned to anger.

Chelevva Pendragon, child of two deities, older than the kingdoms of man and the ancient empires of the elves was _sulking_!

With this realisation she threw herself into her preparations, paying no heed to the world around her.

* * *

Inside his bedchamber, Chelevva Pendragon was similarly oblivious to the outside world. Cut off both physically and mentally, the immortal dedicated himself to his task with a diligence that was beginning to cross over into obsession.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, three books opened and scattered about him. All three had black covers and were bound in bands of white-gold. Across the spine of each was a five-pointed star, the lower two points extended. It was the symbol of the creator of the tomes, the goddess Kereska, mate to Tiamet Pendragon and mother of Chelevva.

The book were priceless, each filled with the goddess's writings, new ways to shape magic, to increase it, incantations that could shape the world anew if spoken.

But Chel did not understand. Why had Kereska given him these volumes?

Even with his own power, nearly limitless in the eyes of mortals and nearly an equal in the eyes of deities, he would not be able to use these notes. They were the private observations of Kereska and for her own personal use. Therefore they were only useable to those possessing equivalent power and not only that but it would have to be the goddess's own power, each spell shaped to the unique and individual nuances of her magic. Not even his father could have used them.

He had toyed with the idea that his mother had given him the tomes out of sentimental value, but then had dismissed it. From his memories of his all-too-short life before his family's death he remember the goddess dealing quests out to mortals and no action then was without meaning.

So the books did not play a part now, but would they play a part later?

The dragon shook his head; he was getting distracted from the task at hand.

The undertaking before him revolved around a rough rectangle of silvery-white hide that was laid out on the floor before him. During his time in the Beyond the blue-silver dragoness had told him of it and where it had lain, folded in the plain wooden box given to his by the last servant of Kereska.

"_It will show you the way."_

That was what his mother had told him. But so far all his spells had come to naught, the hide refusing to give up it secrets. Nothing seemed to be working.

It appeared that it was time to use his weapon of last resort. He gathered up the hide, folding it carefully and tucking it into his robes. Then his hands went through a series of familiar gestures and the immortal vanished.

* * *

He had expected the attack to come right away and, sure enough, as soon as he felt ground beneath his feet his assailant had barrelled into him. His wings and arms were already spread for balance so Chel only rocked on his heels and didn't fall. Similarly his hands were resting on his attacker's shoulders for support before the white-haired immortal was seized round the middle and hauled into the air.

The smile in his words was poorly hidden as he looked down at his assailant,

"Father."

Tiamet Pendragon looked up at his son from where he'd been busy enjoying his fierce embrace, a wide smile on his face. His arms were wrapped tightly around Chel's tiny waist and in his enthusiasm had lifted the younger immortal so that the deity's head was level with the ribs of his Divine Agent.

The Dragon Lord lowered his child gently to the ground and as soon as Chel had steadied himself he leapt again, draping his arms around the younger dragon's shoulders while nuzzling him vigorously, his draconic mannerisms slightly at odds with the mammal form he wore.

Finally he released the guardian, peering around Chel to look behind him. When his gaze returned to his child it was filled with curiosity,

"But where is Vale?"

Chel paused,

"She was… busy and unable to accompany me."

Tiamet's face assumed an expression of almost-comical sorrow,

"So she is not with you then."

"No, Father."

"I wore the mammal suit for her."

"I see that, Father."

Tiamet had indeed assumed his mammal form which saw use when appearances were needed to non-draconic worshippers and it changed gradually over time according to the deity's whims or needs.

Currently it still resembled the mammal form his father had been trapped in barely one year past. It was pale and slender, built along elven lines, with a mane of long black hair. However, the hair now fell to the floor not in neat, straight tresses but in a mess of waves and curls. His eyes were two different colours, one a bright, leaf-green and the other a rich honey-gold. Two frilled and spiked draconic ears rose up on either side of his head and an elegant crescent of shimmering scales ran under each eye, along his high cheekbones.

It resembled Chel's own mammal form closely in the shape of the face, the build of the body and the fine, delicate features. It was reassuring to the young immortal that their family resemblance should even extend to their alternate forms.

The deity now cocked his head to one side, his ears sweeping down and outwards to reinforce his gloomy look,

"I have a gift for her."

At this Chel's smooth brow furrowed,

"A gift?"

The Lords of All Dragons smiled, exposing sharp, white teeth, his ears perking up,

"An ordination gift!" his bright expression faded when the younger immortal flinched, "You know that I cannot help her with this," he continued, "if that is what you came to ask me. All I can do is grant her the spells she prays for," he pushed a small box into his child's hands. Chel noted with a small smile that the gift was wrapped in ribbons of silver and platinum and gold.

"That was not what I came to ask you," the guardian tucked the box into his robe, his fingers brushing the folded hide.

"And a good thing too, Chelevva. You really do have to let her-" Tiamet's words of advice trailed off as Chel brought the hide out, "What is that, my child?"

As befitting a god of knowledge his whole body exuded an air of curiosity and he craned his neck to see the object better.

"Something," said Chel, "to show me the way."

* * *

**Jessi:** Eeee! I love writing Chel and Tiamet! They are so cute together!


	5. Chapter V

**Jessi:** The first chapter finished at uni! Ah, but lectures start on Monday and I shall have to do some work... :(

Whenever I read over scenes with Chel and Tiamet I think that they are the kinds of charcters that, if fanfiction was written about them, they would be the ones put into the yaoi incest pairing... and that worries me.

* * *

The silvery-white hide was spread out across a flat, altar-like stone that had risen out of the ground at Tiamet's command. There was enough room on the boulder for both Pendragons to sit in their assumed forms, facing each other across the skin.

Tiamet wore a slight frown as he ran his pale hands over the soft surface of the pelt,

"What have you tried thus far?"

"Everything," Chel looked down at his hands, "every spell and cantrip that I know," his gaze returned to his father, "I was hoping that with your greater power-"

The deity cut him off with a raised hand, shaking his head solemnly,

"Kereska was far more adroit at the Art than I. I have drawn closer to her level of finesse over the years but she was a deity of magic for millennia – for eons before I assumed her title. I would not be able to undo any of the wards here, not subtly, not when Kereska wished to protect something with any measure of determination. My power is greater than hers, that is true, and the full force of that power brought to bear against these wards would destroy them… but such force would also completely destroy the catalyst," he gestured to the neat rectangle of hide, "and in turn any information or anything of use that it held.

"Do you understand, Chelevva?"

Chel nodded, his wings and shoulders slumped. He reached for the pale skin but a hand clasped his wrist tightly,

"Not yet, my hatchling. If I am unable to use all my power against than we must simply find another method, yes?"

The younger immortal sat back, completely focussed on his parent. Tiamet smiled at his attentive pose, so reminiscent of a younger Chelevva under his care and tuition so long ago,

"Consider, my child, that if one source of strong power would destroy the catalyst we will simply have to use a weaker source that would still be capable of overwhelming the wards," the deity leant forward, smiling, "If you and I were to attempt to break the wards together… As long we could hold a certain portion of our strength back, the two different magics working in concert so be sufficient to overstretch the wards, causing them to break apart and disintegrate on their own."

"Like a pincer manoeuvre."

"Exactly!" the elder immortal clapped his hands lightly together, his smile widening.

Chel swept from his seat, moving to his father's side of the altar.

"Allow me a moment to collect myself, please," Tiamet's form flickered as he brought several of his avatars together. Several slight changes occurred as he did so, small aspects of his individual avatars appearing.

There were now rubies nestled in his dark fall of curls and across the sleeves and skirt of his robe graceful designs and spirals appeared, a deep crimson in colour. His eyes had also changed. One was a deep indigo while the other had become a frosty grey.

"Take my hand, Chelevva," a single ashen hand, now bearing an array of gorgeous rings, extended towards the younger immortal. For this tactic to work physical contact was needed.

The Divine Agent ignored the offered extremity, instead choosing to drape both arms loosely around his father, his head resting on the deity's thin shoulder. The action caused a soft smile to grace the deity's face and he touched one of his child's hands before transferring all of his attention to the material before him.

"Ready?"

Chel replied in the affirmative, closed his eyes and concentrated.

Tiamet's voice rose, each arcane syllable falling from his lips to linger for a brief moment before fading. The words did not fade completely, however, but hung in the air building into a tangible quality to the surroundings. Chel's own voice spoke a different incantation but he wove it expertly into that of his father creating a beautiful harmony between the two.

Then the time of incantations was through and the will of both Pendragons was brought forward against the wards, operating on sheer resolve alone.

Immediately those wards reacted against the two dragons, halting their progress and seeking to drive them back. The two different strains of magic, that of the deity and his child, fought against them, dividing and attacking, hammering at weak points between the wards… only to find their efforts thwarted, the wards rising smoothly to meet each attack and weak points containing only more wards.

Both immortals were forced away, their bodies sent sprawling, their efforts all to naught.

* * *

Tiamet Pendragon staggered to his feet, clutching his head and hissing. At once he turned towards his son.

Chelevva was hissing too, but was already steady on his feet. He appeared to be uninjured and the deity breathed a sigh of relief as saw that he'd been successful in shielding him from the worse of the backlash.

He waved a hand across his face and the blood ceased bleeding from his nose and ears. Another gesture and the blood already stained his skin and robes vanished.

"We failed…" the younger immortal sat on the edge of the altar, knees drawn up against his chest.

He heard a soft sigh from his father and looked up as he passed,

"Perhaps. Yes, this method has not availed us, Chelevva. But Kereska… She would not give you something that you would not be able to use, not without reason," the dragon deity began to fold the hide neatly, "There maybe some other way, hatchling, something she wished to show you or teach you," he turned back to Chel, the silvery-white pelt held close to his chest, "She would do this for any other reason… Not Kerrie... I know she would not... And I knew her best of all, hatchling," and he smiled at his own words, but…

"You miss her."

Tiamet sighed at this statement and took a seat next to his child,

"She was my mate and I will love no other like I did her," he smiled again, so soft and sad, "But she is gone now and though I may rage and scream I cannot change that-"

"But you could have!" the deity was interrupted by the younger dragon's outburst, "If you had only asked I would have given myself up for-"

"You are too altruistic for your own good, Chelevva. Willingly sending a loved one to their death in exchange for another… I would never consider it. Your mother would not consider it. Besides," he leant in closer, one hand resting on his child's shoulder, "at least this time… I was permitted to say my farewells."

Tiamet turned away slightly, rubbing a sleeve across mismatched eyes that seemed suspiciously shiny. When he turned back he was again smiling,

"I would _apologise_ to Vale when you return," he pushed the hide into Chel's arms, sighing at his child's slightly confused expression. Hopefully he will understand his error soon enough, thought the deity, and it is best if he learns _that _lesson on his own.

The Divine Agent stood and bowed,

"I thank you for your assistance my Lor-"

Tiamet barrelled into his child again, sweeping him up,

"No standing on ceremony with me, hatchling!" he laughed, all this slightly muffled against Chel's flat stomach (this embrace being even more enthusiastic than the first). And if the Divine Agent felt any tears soak through his robe he did not remark on it.

* * *

"Please remember what I asked of you before, Chelevva. A visit before the next crisis that comes your way," the deity's arms were folded and his brows furrowed but his lips were curved upwards in a soft smile.

Chel accepted the gentle teasing and nodded.

"And I would like to see Vale again," his father's smile broadened, his tones reminiscent of those of a doting uncle speaking of a favourite niece, "after her _official_ ordination," he sniffed disapprovingly, "since it appears the word of a god was not enough."

"The elves do not leave their valley. Vale is the first of them, in living recollection, to explore the outside world. She did so for fifteen years, far, far longer than the others," he shook his head, "Most do not think of the Toril beyond and those who do think do not trust it."

"Do you think that I was mistaken in giving them that place?"

Chel shrugged,

"If you were mistaken father then the damage is done now. Moreover there are worse…" he paused slightly as he felt a twinge in his back. It was just a brief flash of pain and, hoping that it was indeed only that, the Divine Agent began again, "There are worse fates than to be-" the pain came again, though this time it was akin to a lightning bolt across his spine.

A ghost of pain must have crossed his features as Tiamet's face was slipping into his expression of near-matronly concern,

"Hatchling? What is the matter?"

The younger immortal gritted his teeth against the agony,

"Nothing!" he barked.

Just as the word had past his lips the pain appeared for the third time and Chel screamed involuntarily, dropping to his knees.

Immediately his father was by his side, slender arms pinning his thrashing body to the grass. They held far more strength than their appearance would suggest, not even shaking as they held back the guardian's deceptive strength.

Gold-and-platinum light gathered along the dragon god's arms, the healing light seeking to allay Chel's suffering… only to have the screaming and thrashing double in intensity. Tiamet recoiled, his mismatched eyes widening in horror.

Understanding, he clamped one hand across his child's eyes. There was a silent flash of green light and the younger immortal fell limp.

After a few moments had gone by with only a few twitches and faint whimpers of pain from the unconscious dragon, Tiamet carefully lifted him into the air with a the aid of a telekinesis spell.

With a wave of his hand the black robes split down the back, letting the deity see what lay beneath…

From the base of his neck to his narrow hips, Chel was wrapped in bandages. They were good quality, made of thick, well-made linen but they were now completely soaked through with crimson blood.

A small whimper escaped his throat and he nuzzled the younger dragon softly. It was all he could do for now.

Once again, Tiamet Pendragon was rendered completely powerless.


	6. Chapter VI

**Jessi:** Ahha! Sorry for the delay. It's been kind of crazy with all my classes these days…

Oh! But I got my first piece of fanfiction fanfiction. Thank you Triaxx2 for your ChelxVale fic!

* * *

Tiamet stepped from the portal onto the Prime Material Plane with all the grace and dignity that befitted a deity. His bearing was somewhat at odds with the expression on his face, the concern and anxiety there becoming clearer each time he glanced down at his child.

Chelevva's prone form lay out on thin air, suspended above the ground by magic. Still the tips of his wings dragged on the ground and the deity had been forced to throw his son's thick mass of hair over his chest to stop it tangling around his feet.

He crossed the floor of Chelevva's bedchamber and lowered the stricken godchild onto his bed. Once that was done he leant down to inspect the wound on the younger immortal's back.

With a gesture of his thin hands his mammal's nails lengthened, becoming wickedly sharp claws. However, there was nothing but care and gentleness in them as he cut away the blood-soaked bandages.

The origin of the blood was from a familiar sight, a single long scar beginning at the base of the neck and running in a ragged line between Chelevva's wings to end on his left hip. It was the Divine Agent's only scar, a permanent reminder of the brutal attack Tiamat had brought onto the Pendragon family. The bleeding, however, was not an act of the Dark Lady…

"Sjach! I hope you're rotting for this!" hissed the Dragon Lord, fists clenching in the fabric of his mammal clothing. The shadow creature's magic, antithesis to the magic of deities, had opened the old wound to walk the Prime again. Chel's own magic apparently could not close it and the effect of a god's magic battling that of the mirror creature caused such pain…

"Chelevva… I am so sorry…" Tiamet reached out for his child, his brilliant intellect having failed him.

That was when the window exploded inwards…

* * *

Vale was angry. She'd been researching Shetoul's Run in the vast library and, as well as not finding anything useful, she'd been all-too-aware of the whispers following her in the corridors, of curious stares boring into her back.

She'd become accustomed to such treatment, after a fashion, ever since her relationship with Chel had come to light. But the doubt cast on her role as a high-priestess, the conflict between her lover and herself in the Tribunal and her own perilous decision to undertake Shetoul's Run had increased all such behaviour by tenfold.

She was tired, both mentally and physically exhausted, and her guardian made a convenient scapegoat in her head. Of course, she still could not breach the defences on his chamber doors to take out her anger on him so she had decided on an alternate course of action.

And this was how she had ended up levitating through what used to be a window, slightly regretting the excess use of force on her own home. Then her eyes fell on the form of Chel, bleeding and unconscious on the bed.

Her anger left her in a heartbeat, faster than it took for her feet to touch the ground again. Her own brand of healing magic danced across her fingers as she scrambled to her guardian's side.

* * *

From the shadows Tiamet, now decorated with shards of glass and slivers of wood, watched as his priestess' magic sank into Chel's open wound.

He was already moving to dispel his charm of invisibility and stop the magic went he noticed his child's reaction… or rather lack of it.

There were no screams of pain or pleas for her to stop. In fact, the harsh lines that pain had wrecked onto Chel's face softened and his tense muscles unwound themselves.

The deity sank back into the shadows watching Vale work. There was no hint of anger in the young elf now, only concern for the immortal in her care.

He smiled – this was how it should be. He had watched over the couple, well aware that the love between a mortal and an immortal rarely ran smoothly. He had seen their first stumbling steps along that road, the small, shy embraces from Vale and the dwindling disbelief from Chel. He'd seen his child confessing all, shedding his false form and revealing what he really was and to the utter joy of both immortals the young elf responded with tenderness. He had watched over their first night together and he had blessed the union, content in the fact that his child was no longer so sad, so alone.

Tiamet willed himself back to his home plane, knowing that Chel was in good hands.

* * *

Chelevva Pendragon woke, confused when he realised that his surrounding were not those of his home plane. He attempted to move, cautiously at first and then normally when no response came from his wound.

He sat up, craning his head over his shoulder. He was wrapped, once again, from the base of his neck to his narrow hips in bandages. Aside from that, his only garment was a thin sheet, and a solitary scrap of black cloth trapped in his hair hinted at his robe's fate.

The immortal closed his eyes, but he could not sense his father here.

"Chel…"

Immediately he turned towards the noise, heedless of the fragility of his wound. There was no pain, however, all due to the work of the young elf crossing the room towards him.

She wore a simple white robe, the sleeves stained crimson in deific blood. On a tray she carried in her hands were the soiled bandages, the gory rags piled high.

Vale set the tray on the floor,

"I'm still angry at you," she said softly, even though there was no sign of such in her face or her kind hands as they felt the muscles of his back and wings gently. When she was satisfied with what she found, the cleric sat back, her hands absently plucking at the blood-spattered fabric of her robes.

After a moment had past in silence, Chel cautiously moved forward to nuzzle her shoulder. He met no resistance and he leant against Vale, pressing himself closer to her warm body, even his white wings and the long strands of his hair wrapping around her.

Yet another silent moment past by.

"Vale?" the white-haired immortal uncoiled himself slightly from his lover so that he could look her in the face, "_Koishii_? Are you still set on Shetoul's Run as your course of action?"

"Yes!" now a flash of anger appeared in the cleric, "This is my course of action and nothing you can say can-"

"I wish to assist you," the interruption rendered Vale speechless, and Chel continued, "I know that place. I sealed it myself. If I cannot sway you from this path then please allow me to offer you my knowledge instead! At least allow me to perform my duty in that small way!"

The young princess said nothing at first but instead pulled her guardian closer with one hand, pulling the sheets over him with the other. Then she smiled,

"That's all I want. Show me the way, my guardian."


	7. Chapter VII

By the standards of Casathend and quite a number of civilisations outside it, Eiko was considered a child of privilege.

She was the second daughter of the Tairon family, a noble clan founded along with Casathend itself and one of some wealth and influence. In a society that prized their spell casters – both those of sorcery and clerical magic – she had an enviable position as a senior acolyte, at the head of many of her classes. Eiko was a diligent student and a dutiful daughter and cleric – a perfectionist by nature.

Yet this very nature of hers was one of her greatest flaws. The desire to be perfect drove her into heavy competitions with her rival classmates and even her elder sister and brother who were both talented sorcerers in a family that prided itself on its strong sorcerer bloodline.

Lately though, another elf had taken their place as her principle rival.

Crown Princess and Heir Apparent Vale Aeacus had beauty, wealth, natural talent and position, both in the Church and in society. But although these things in themselves would have earned Vale the enmity of Eiko, what most ate away at the acolyte was not something, but in fact someone.

There were a few at any one time, young female elves with an unrequited love for the Imperial Guardian and Eiko Tairon was one of them.

Vale was not the only one to appreciate his unearthly beauty and unique pale complexion. But she was the only one to receive any response – yet alone one so affectionate.

So as the young princess made her plans, Eiko was beginning to form some of her own.

* * *

Vale Aeacus, possessor of beauty, wealth, natural talent and position, would have cheerfully given any one of these things up, if she could only not be here in this situation.

Most of her priestly robes, the black outer one and the longer one of pure white, were folded neatly beside her, leaving her in only her light blue under robe. Along her left arm, one of most senior Theurges, one of those spell casters possessing both arcane and divine magic, had spent an hour diligently painting elaborate black markings.

Across from her sat Chel, still wearing his robes, having merely pushed them off his right arm, had another Theurge painting similar markings onto his pale skin. His were far more extensive though. Instead of extending from his wrist and terminating at his shoulder like on Vale's arm, his swept down his shoulder, across his collarbone and neck. As the elven priestess watched his alabaster hair lifted itself away from the right side of his face, allowing the Theurge to apply his brush across his cheek.

The spell caster working on Vale glanced over his work carefully and nodded to himself, satisfied. A soft murmuring grew among the other magic users, a mixed crowd from the Theurges, the Clergy and the Bloodlines, who had gathered in the Great Hall to watch. Kerova stood apart from them with two of his bodyguards, besides the colossal statue of Tiamet, attending out of worry for his daughter and the guardian that had raised him.

Did he feel a little professional curiosity, wondered Vale? King and father he may be but Kerova was still a sorcerer…

The princess shook herself mentally. He was here out of concern and nothing else. These thoughts were only her own attempts to distract herself and nothing more.

Her worry at the situation again rose up and she glanced down at the markings with increasing anxiety.

This spell was an invention of her guardian, dating back to the founding of Casathend. The Battle Queen, Jeluna, had assumed the throne, but only on the condition that Chel remain as advisor and guardian. A worldly creature, the dragon had seen royal dynasties fall before when new generations grew corrupt. Any future evil the Aeacus line might produce would be greatly magnified if they could use his power as a tool.

So the guardian had created two spells. One could temporarily suppress the mental bond that he had with the youngest of the line. The other would permanently sever it.

Happily the guardian's worries proved unfounded, the following generations had remained virtuous, even though another potential tool for evil began with Jeluna's son Siar, the first of the Sorcerer kings. The spells had remained unused for all this time…

And what if they'd confused them? The fact that their bond would be suppressed for a few days terrified the young elf. The permanent dissolution of that bond was unthinkable.

A soft mental caress came from her guardian and she looked up at his pale eyes seeing no fear in his angular features. She calmed and was rewarded with another touch, this one lingering longer.

Chel's Theurge finished, straightening with a sigh of relief. Unlike his colleague he did not set aside his brush and ink but waited expectantly.

The Imperial Guardian shifted closer to his ward, linking his right hand with Vale's left. He gave it a gentle squeeze to lighten her fear and then beckoned the Theurge closer.

From both of their wrist the marks were extended upwards, coiling about their knuckles and across their slender fingers. The patterns began to join with each other, connecting those marks on Vale's arm with Chel's.

When those were done, the brush and ink were set aside and the senior Theurge picked up a small, curved knife with one hand and a tiny bowl with the other. He glanced at the Imperial Guardian's face nervously, his hand shaking slightly.

The pale immortal motioned towards his unmarked arm impatiently and the gesture motivated the elf into action.

He ran the knife across Chel's pale flesh but cut too shallowly, the wound closing nearly instantly, leaving only unmarred flesh behind. Gathering his courage, the Theurge cut again, this time deeper. Vale averted her eyes from the injury as blood began to seep out of it. Chel, accustomed to far greater pains, and having inflicted much of it on his own flesh, showed no change in expression.

The cut bled enough and remained open long enough for the Theurge to catch a small amount of blood in his bowl. Whispering a soft incantation under his breath the spell caster drew a final symbol on the princess' hand in the blood of her own guardian.

As the final brush stroke was applied, as soon as the brush left her skin, there was a soundless explosion in Vale's head. She screamed, making many of the watching magic users jump or back away. The ones that didn't, mostly those who served or had served in combat, hurried to help the screaming princess or the Imperial Guardian, who was trembling and shuddering silently with his head buried in his hands. A few others helped the king's bodyguards to lead the monarch away. Kerova had leapt forward at his child's screams but stood torn between the suffering of his daughter and his former guardian, getting in the way of assisting Theurges and Clergy.

Vale noticed none of this. She had barely noticed her own screams or the way they transformed into sobs. She was focussed nearly completely inwards, inside her own mind.

Was this how others lived? All the time? How did they deal with this? The sheer emptiness? The terrifying loneliness in the dark behind their eyes? She was sure that it would drive her mad and she struggled without realising against kind hands.

Suddenly all at once those hands were gone, replaced by one pair, who gently lifted her into the air, drawing her out of her own mind.

Chel embraced her gently. Even he could not totally conceal his anguish and pain, though in all fairness only those who knew him like Vale and Kerova would have seen it. The young princess, still weeping, flung her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder, trying desperately to regain their closeness.

And it was like that, her salty tears soaking into his pale skin and into the bandages he had painstakingly disguised with illusion that Vale slid into oblivion.

* * *

Members of the Clergy had been recruited to assist the princess and the Imperial Guardian but Chel did not accept their offers of help, instead teleporting Vale home himself. The pale immortal was in bad shape himself, it took twice as long to marshal enough concentration to transport Vale, Kerova and himself back to his own bedchambers.

But finally Vale was laid out on the dark bedding, still twitching and whimpering in pain – even in unconsciousness.

"I don't remember it being this painful," the elven king glanced at his guardian. Chel looked stoic enough but…

"The separation of your mind and my own was gradual. I had nine months last time but they would not wait for Vale," Chel shook his head angrily, his alabaster hair briefly swinging forward to conceal the black markings on the one side, "The shock did this to her. I took as much of the backlash as I could but…" he snorted angrily, sinking slowly onto his bed.

Kerova leant against Chel's desk, his eyes fixed on Vale. The separation he referred to was that of himself and Chel, over fifty years ago. The Imperial Guardian's ward was always the youngest of the Aeacus line and when Vale was conceived the pale immortal's mental bond gradually slipped from one elf to the other.

"I saw members of the Tribunal watching today," offered Kerova, "if anything then this will provoke sympathy for Vale. There might be more support for her acceptance as high priestess."

"So some good will come of it?" Chel snapped, his voice full of bitterness and Kerova flinched back from his anger, "You talk about support! They may indeed support us, but they'll still stand aside as they send a child into a lion's den!"

"Chel… I'm sorry…"

Chel's hair had begun to writhe in the air of its own accord but now it settled back down onto the covers and the immortal sighed,

"It can not be helped."

Kerova opened his mouth to speak but his words were forgotten as Vale stirred. The princess' eyes fluttered open, tears already beginning to roll down her cheeks. A whimper escaped her.

"Vale?" Chel had noticed as well and crawled across the covers towards his beloved. At the sound of his voice the cleric began to cry harder, harsh sobs being dredged up from her slight form and her tears falling faster.

"Vale! Love? Please, _kioshii_, look at me?"

Still crying Vale did so, the young elf actually trying to lift herself onto her elbows, trembling with the effort. Seeing it Chel lifted her, pressing her against himself.

He looked over Vale's shoulder at Kerova and the elf king left them in privacy.

* * *

The night was a long one for both Vale and Chel. The priestess slept fitfully, and twice her guardian was obliged to hold her as she cried against him. The third time the loneliness and the quiet emptiness of both their minds had worked on them and, in the most basic and biological way, they tried desperately to regain their former closeness.

Desperately they tried to forget the great yawning darkness of Shetoul's Run looming ahead of them.


	8. Chapter VIII

**Jessi:** Special treat for everyone this time round: the super-long deluxe Shetoul's Run! It turned out so long that I felt I had to put it down in two parts. The second part will be up soon, I just need to finish it off. I've been kind of dragging out the anticipation for Vale's trail for a while so I shall try not to disappoint.

* * *

Shetoul's Run, on the surface at least, appeared to be innocuous. Stone steps led down into the earth a short way terminating at a short stretch of corridor and a silvery gate. It was here that the Run lost its harmless looks.

The gate was made from slender bars of silver, blessed and sanctified by innumerable priests including the Imperial Guardian himself. The five locks were each marked with the Star of Tiamet and both they and the gate itself were warded heavily. But between those bars, where one could look into the Run itself, the darkness lurked up against the entrance, seeming a solid, living thing. Light brought to this place appeared to seep into the Run with the greatest of reluctance, barely extending into the deep tunnels.

Another gate, identical to the first, lay two miles to the north. That distance, however, was deceptive. Shetoul's Run was a tangled mass of tunnels deep beneath the earth, increasing the distance between the gates, five-fold, ten-fold or even more. Their true extent would probably never be known for the tunnels were haunted by dark and terrible creatures, relics of the valley's former owner destroyed by Vale's ancestors.

Nine times it had been used in clerical matters, as a test of faith, as a proving ground, and once it had been used in times of war, Shetoul himself had fought and ran through the dark tunnels. And of these ten lives, the Run had taken five outright and haunted the rest until their dying day.

* * *

Eiko leant closer to the gate, bringing her lantern up against the bars to examine the surface.

"As far as I can see," she straightened, partly turning towards her companion, "there are the standard wards you might expect on something like this. Protection from evil, protection from the elements, protection from hostile magic, and it's arcane and divine magic as well. The way I see it the best way to get inside is teleportation."

"But why?" Melfia Byron ceased adjusting her elaborately styled hair and gave the acolyte a side-long glance, "There must be wards against teleporting on it. If you can't see them then maybe they're hidden and I'm not risking both of us getting turned inside out by a ward you didn't see."

The Tairon daughter fixed the sorceress with her best glare,

"There is a ward; do you think me a fool? But quite obviously I've noted that it only prevents teleportation from the inside to the outside. No one thought that they would need one for teleportation into the Run."

Melfia crept closer, placing one hand on the bars,

"Are- are you absolutely sure about this?"

Eiko snorted,

"Coward."

The Byron sorceress glared up at her,

"I'm not afraid. But however you look at the situation she is the princess and one day she'll be queen. Our families may be bigger but the Aeacus are the rulers; they have the power _and _they have Lord Chel. If news of this reaches anyone else," she shook herself, "News of this doesn't have to, she'll know who we are! What do you think that she and her father and her lover could _do_ to our families?"

Eiko smiled, laying a reassuring hand on her friend's shoulder,

"We're not going to do anything to her. We're just going to speak to her at the one time when she's by herself and without Lord Chel. That's all. Besides, she's been _outside_ for years. Do you really think that she knows every member of every clan, by face _and_ name? And if you're still worried then I'm sure that a sorceress of your skills can cast a few disguise spells for when the time comes."

Melfia nodded, calming, and she began her incantation. Eiko tightened her grip on the sorceress' shoulder and together they vanished.

* * *

Vale was trying not to think that she'd soon be standing before a certain silver gate, ready to be let in. Instead she focussed on her surroundings, the great hall with its colossal statue of Tiamet and its smaller statues of notable clerics.

Her gaze fell on a statue of an athletic elf, sword bared in one hand and lantern raised in the other, Shetoul himself, the second elf to become a cleric of the dragon god and, of course, the first to survive the Run that would later bare his name.

Vale wondered if Shetoul, being an ancestor (having later become the husband of Jeluna), would be proud of choice to take the Run or was even now lamenting her decision in the afterlife. She very nearly tried to ask Chel telepathically but caught herself just in time.

Her hands were shaking again and she linked them together in an effort to stop them. So badly had they been trembling earlier that Chel had been allowed, under careful scrutiny, to help her with her robes of black and white.

Currently her guardian stood behind her, tying her hair into one long braid. On either side of them, two fellow clerics stood, each wearing a blue half-mask marked with a single white star. They watched Chel carefully; the magic in the masks would allow them to detect any magic that the guardian might slip her.

Finally Chel stepped away, leading her to the weapon rack that had been set up in the centre of the floor, two more masked clerics standing guard on either side of it.

The Tribunal were also arranged around the room and Othello came forward,

"Vale Aeacus, in accordance to Tribunal rule you are allowed to take only four items with you into Shetoul's Run. Your robes and holy symbol are with you now," he passed her a softly glowing gem stone, which flew out of her hands and began to orbit her head, "You now have the third item. And for your fourth item," he gestured towards the weapon rack, "we will allow you what ever weapon you desire to strike at your foes."

Vale's eyes roamed over the stand. Every conceivable weapon was stored there, ranging from a single dagger, to a full size wyvern lance, a deadly weapon that was part spear and part sword. They were all coated in silver and bore only a single charm of sharpening.

The princess knew that a physical weapon would do her no real good. She knew full well that her strength lay in her magic and her faith, not in strength of arms. But still a weapon could possibly hold off an attacker while she cast a spell and so she selected a long, slender sword, similar to those used by the Armsmen.

"You now have your fourth item," the Speaker drew himself up to his full height, "Vale Aeacus, in accordance with Tribunal law you will now descend into Shetoul's Run. Should you return to us alive, proof of your faith, your power and your reputation will be beyond reproach and suspicions brought up against you in the Tribunal will be dropped. May Tiamet guide your hand and heart and may you return to us whole and safe."

* * *

Chel climbed down the steps gracefully, Vale, Othello and two masked priests following behind. The guardian's slim hand brushed the surface of the gate, the blessings and the wards reassuring to one of magical and divine origin such as himself.

Finally he leant forward, his lips pressing against the second lock in a soft kiss.

All five locks snapped open at once, causing Vale to jump slightly, and the gate swung open slightly.

The pale immortal turned. His ward had moved forward, her eyes fixed on the slightly ajar gateway, one hand tightly gripping her holy symbol and the other touching her sword.

Chel made a move as if to touch her then paused, looking pleadingly at Othello. The old elf nodded slightly and the guardian swept his arms around Vale, pulling her against him, burying his face into her golden hair.

The young cleric looked up at him as he drew back, seeing the anguish startlingly apparent on his delicate features, even through the fierce markings that coiled and spun across the right-hand side of his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it, worrying his lip with one of those slightly elongated canines instead.

Then there was only time for one last kiss before Chel released her, holding the gate open for her and, slowly, shutting the gate behind her.

The click of the locks was unnaturally loud within that small space.

* * *

The glowing crystal orbiting Vale's head shed a soft light onto the walls of the tunnel. It was only as strong as a full moon but to the cleric's elven eyes it was more than enough. The passageway sloped down, deeper into the earth and the young princess began to follow it. Something she saw out of the corner of her eye made her pause however and she drew closer to the wall.

The stone walls of the tunnel were covered in long scratches.

Something had been trying to claw its way out.

She shuddered, suddenly very cold, and hurried on.

* * *

In the darkness, away from the sun, it was hard to tell the passage of time. As Vale walked on in the small circle of light shed by her gem stone she became increasingly aware of this fact. For all she knew she could have been walking for minutes or hours.

She shook her head, she was being ridiculous.

But still… The sheer quiet and emptiness of the place scared her. She almost wished for something to attack, anything to break the oppressive aura of fear and anticipation…

She suddenly halted. Was she imagining things or had there been the shuffle of feet just ahead of her?

Even her breathing stilled as she stood there in silence, ears straining for any noise. She wished briefly that she could have Chel's keen draconic hearing.

For a hundred heartbeats she stood so very still, and then she relaxed. Perhaps, she reflected, she had merely heard her own robes brushing against the stone floors or maybe even-

A shape suddenly lunged forward. It had lain concealed just outside the area of deep gloom at the very limit of her magical light and now, all attempts at stealth abandoned, great shrieks of fury and pain tore itself from its throat.

Vale's reflexes were sharp enough to move out of its direct path but she wasn't swift enough to get completely out of its way. Her assailant managed to barge into the young cleric's shoulder, sending them both sprawling.

The creature recovered quicker than Vale, scrambling onto all fours. Long arms made a grab for the princess' legs but she hurriedly pulled them out of its reach. Then her hand was coming forward, her holy symbol presented.

The thing howled as platinum light washed over it and it backed away, still on all fours, clawing at its own face in agony.

Vale knew she should do something but she was shocked into inaction, bile rising in her throat, at the creature's very appearance.

It was emaciated beyond all belief. That it was dead already was a definite, nothing living could have survived so long with such a wasted body. Skin, once the same colour as Vale's own, was stretched tightly over warped and twisted bones. The remains of long, blonde hair hung in ragged strands over its face, partly concealing its great, staring full-moon eyes.

But what disturbed her most of all was what was hanging around its neck; a silver star, symbol of Tiamet.

An animalistic snarl came from the monster's throat, roughly ended ending Vale's paralysis. The former cleric was rising, its distorted bones creaking in protest.

Vale flung her hands out and a wave of force knocked the creature off its feet, more than one bone breaking with a dry snap. The steely whisper of her sword was drowned out by the creature's screams.

* * *

**Jessi:** I've been trying to add more description to my work. I hope I haven't overdone it. 


	9. Chapter IX

**Jessi:** Part two of Shetoul's Run! And the first appearance of Vale's exalted feat!

* * *

Vale touched her symbol, seeking reassurance. Ahead of her was a great tangle of bones, those of animals, humanoids and goblinoids. There even were a few long and delicate bones that she recognised as being part of wyvern's wing. At its shallowest the ancient mass-grave came up to Vale's knees and some of the heaps would tower over the diminutive cleric.

As she picked her way carefully through and over the bones (though even with the greatest caution she couldn't avoid stepping on some remains, reducing them to powder) she noted that some of the ivory remnants bore great scorch marks and terrible fractures. The explanation for such things came when she came across a mess of different bones fused together in a recognisable shape – that of a colossal spine terminating in a skull of great and terrible proportions.

It was the remains of a boneyard, a blasphemous undead creature resembling a great serpent formed from the interlocking forms of plundered skeletons.

Having encountered the creature also known as dancing bones once before Vale was glad that she did not have to fight this one and she reached solid footing with palatable relief.

Her magical light hovering about her head revealed yet more winding tunnel completely devoid of life or unlife. In fact, the cleric-ghoul had been the only monster the princess had fought. She'd come across remains, of which the ancient dancing bones was only one, but nothing else. Considering legends had been written about the great hordes lurking in the Run's darkness…

Something shone in the magical light. As the cleric knelt to investigate her confusion increased all the more.

The object was an emerald, the size of the nail on Vale's little finger. It was set in a golden clip, a type of hair ornament currently in fashion among the nobility. But most shockingly of all there was still a long strand of blonde hair attached to it and…

There was blood on the floor! Still warm, still wet, still so red!

Vale began to pick up speed. What in Tiamet's name was happening?

* * *

In the world of light away from Shetoul's Run a pale figure sat watching the silver gate. Chel's eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the unlocked exit.

Others had started to gather at the gate, wishing to catch a glimpse of a hopefully triumphant princess. The Imperial Guardian felt a number of curious eyes on him and he longed to do something, to lunge into the sky and fly, to plunge into the earth's depths girdled in holy fire.

The immortal was brought out of his thoughts as Kerova settled beside him. The monarch look pale and, understandably, troubled,

"There's nothing yet?" asked the male elf and at Chel's shaken head his gaze wandered over to the gate.

The two sat in silence, the elf king's bodyguards standing a respectful distance away.

"Chel? I know that I have no right to ask," Kerova's voice was low, to keep their words between them, "considering these circumstances I've no right to ask ever again but despite that-"

"No right?"

The male elf shifted nervously,

"If I hadn't… Back at the Temple," he shook himself and started again, "If I hadn't found you… you and Vale… like that… together, I mean," the words became more rapid now, "If I hadn't found the two of you, if I had handled the situation… I love you both. You've been parent, teacher and friend to me all my life and she… She's my only daughter, my own flesh and blood and I was… If I hadn't been so damn overprotective of her maybe others wouldn't have found out about the… about you two. Maybe the Tribunal would not have doubted her like this and she wouldn't be risking her life like this and… and…" he drew in a shuddering breath, "And if something happens to her I will never forgive myself."

Kerova was shivering and he'd become pale. One of his bodyguards stepped forward but the male elf waved her off, dashing his sleeve across his reddening eyes.

"You cannot be certain of such a thing, Kerova," the elf king looked up as Chel spoke, his voice calm and even, "Even if our relationship had remained secret the mere fact that I am her guardian may have aroused doubts. And the decision to undertake Shetoul's Run was one that Vale made for herself. No matter how we may rile against that decision it does not change it."

There was silence once more.

"Chel? If she should die there would you find her? And if she's… changed would you… Don't leave her down there in the darkness."

"I do not intend to."

* * *

Eiko Tairon thrust her holy symbol into the leering face of a needle-toothed ghoul, making it scream and stumble backwards. Trembling hands coated with blood, Melfia cast another spell, bright pinpoints of light sinking into the chest of a great, pale creature with no visible effect. The acolyte trembled as she brandished her star again. The undead before her recoiled briefly but recovered nearly instantly, stumbling towards the two nobles.

The Byron sorceress cried out again, this time going onto her knees shuddering weakly. Above her loomed a wavering grey spirit with two smouldering coals for eyes – a wraith. Eiko thrust her dagger into its chest but the light enchantments on the blade gave it no pause. The bottle of holy water, however, did and the wraith shrieked, fleeing into the safety of the tunnel walls.

Eiko gripped the shoulder of her wraith-touched companion, pulling her further along the tunnel. The vial of holy water she'd used against the wraith had been her last and the undead still blocked the corridor back the way they had came. The only way to go was further on, deeper into the Run and she doubted that her friend, weakened by the wraith's touch was capable of going much further.

The undead were moving forward again. The acolyte brandished her symbol but the only visible effect was a weak glow.

A ghoul was suddenly before her, claws out. Eiko stumbled back but was too slow to avoid the unholy creature's attack. Her holy symbol was pulled from her bloody fingers, shining briefly in the summoned magelight before vanishing into the dark.

More undead were racing towards the vulnerable nobles and the acolyte seized Melfia, desperately trying to heave her friend away from the ravenous things. The sorceress' hands began moving, but whatever spell she was trying to weave was spoilt by a trembling hands. A ghoul sprang back with a snarl as Eiko slashed out with her dagger. The blow was weak however, the weapon was held in her lacerated hand to spare her good hand for dragging Melfia and the blade, slick with blood, flew from her fingers. The ghouls were quick to return and their long hands clamped onto the Tairon's arms, on her long priest robes, tearing Melfia from her grip, mouths descending to taste sweet elf flesh.

A great blaze of platinum light suddenly filled the corridor and the undead flailed under it, screaming and screeching as it touched their pale flesh. There were harsh, echoing cries from behind the two nobles and Eiko turned to see a cloud of wraiths, until now unnoticed by either of the elves, writhing in the light.

Golden sparks started to rise upwards from the very back of the undead horde, back the way Mefia and Eiko had come. As they came closer the acolyte realised that they were coming from the undead – undead that were dissolving into bright speaks of light. And walking towards them, girdled in light of gold and platinum was…

* * *

Vale Aeacus paused. As the last of the undead faded away, the bodies completely destroyed by the holy light, she swore she could see two elves, one lying on her side on the ground and the other kneeling over her.

She hurried over, so many questions on the tip of her tongue but all that fled as she saw the blood,

"Sweet Tiamet!" she gasped, going to her knees beside the wounded elves. The prone elf was in the worst condition so Vale focused on her first, seeing that in addition to her physical wounds something vital had been taken from her spirit.

"It was a wraith. We need to get back, we have to get her to the Temple for treatment soon," Eiko frowned, the princess didn't appear to be listening, "She's can't be treated in the field she needs the Temple," she growled as the younger elf still didn't look up and she seized the front her robes, jerking her forward, "_Are you listening to me_?"

Vale raised her head, glowering, her mouth still quietly forming the syllables and her hands performing the gestures required for her spell. As the spell reached its climax she brought her holy symbol down on the injured elf.

A great tide of gold and platinum light flowed from the symbol, washing over the wounded sorceress. Eiko's eyes widened as Melfia began to stir. This was a restoration spell of the highest level! Even she, first in her class, was decades away from being able to cast it, let alone doing it so skilfully. With increasing wonder she watched as the other cleric immediately launched into a series of healing spells for both Melfia and herself.

And all this from someone half her age! It was impossible!

She kept her eyes on her hand as the wound and tears closed, leaving only smooth, golden flesh behind. Without a word she looked over the conscious sorceress herself, helping her to her feet and then stalking over to the wall to look for her holy symbol.

As she scooped it up, she noticed that the chain was broken and she tied it around her wrist. Her dagger, however, was nowhere to be found and she cursed under her breath.

"What are you doing here?" the Crown Princess was watching her with solemn blue eyes, her arm supporting Melfia.

The Tiaron cleric snarled and tore Melfia away from the younger female, supporting her herself,

"None of your damn business!" she barked. The princess seemed taken aback and opened her mouth to speak. Eiko spoke quickly to beat the retort she imagined was coming, "I don't care if you are my superior in the Church or in the Court! You do not rule me," drawing herself up regally (or as much as possible while supporting her friend) she turned and began to lead Melfia back the way they had come.

There was a rustle of cloth and Vale was at her side,

"Do not! You've past the half-way point," when Eiko looked curiously at her Vale continued, "The boneyard remains – I mean," she added at the other elf's look of confusion, "that corridor filled with bones that's the marker I was told about. We're closer now to the exit that to the entrance."

Eiko's kohl-lined eyes narrowed in suspicion,

"And how do I know that you're not planning to leave us, weaponless, with another undead hoard?"

"If had planned such a thing," Vale retorted, "do you not think I would have just let you leave by yourselves?" she fumbled at her belt, drawing her sword and pressing it into Eiko's free hand, "I doubt you have many spells left to throw," she smiled ruefully, "and the sword's wasted on me anyway."

The smile faded when a howl echoed down the tunnels, far-away but only for now,

"Bloody blessed eyes of Tiamet!" cursed Vale (in a highly unprincess-like manner), "All that noise we made: it's going to attract others."

She took Melfia's other arm and as fast as they could the three elves vanished into the gloom ahead.

* * *

Chel lifted his head, eyes narrowed, examining the surroundings closely. Along the Weave had come a familiar burst of power from a familiar brand of magic.

Even with that hint, it still took the white-haired immortal a long moment to finally find the source.

Tiamet, Lord of Dragons, sat in the wide boughs of a tree, the gloom hiding his pale skin. A small, darkly-scaled wyvern was coiled around the same branch, asleep with its head laid passively at the deity's bare feet.

The older immortal smiled and laid a finger across his lips, returning his gaze to a small crystal ball in his lap.

Had Chel not turned away at that moment he might have seen the frown that crossed Tiamet's brow.

* * *

Eiko didn't even see the creature before Vale Aeacus turned and blasted it with lightning. She reeled backwards in shock as something she had taken for one of their elongated shadows on the wall fell forwards, shrieking.

The princess' eyes widened as it melted away into the ground with an eerie, undulating howl.

"Something from the Plane of Shadow? It must have-" she was cut off as a great hound of darkness leapt from the depths of her own shadow. She whirled, one hand coming across as if to slap aside the shadow mastiff. A ribbon of golden light suddenly tore through the hound's body, burning shadowy flesh.

As Vale scanned their surroundings Eiko noticed a faint silhouette within the priestess' new weapon. With a jolt she realised it was the hair ribbon from the royal elf's long braid, transmuted almost instantly into a holy weapon of light.

The princess clutched at her holy symbol, and light flooded the tunnel, almost unbearably bright after the dim crystal and magelight. Shadows were reduced to mere grey wisps and dark shapes with the forms of hounds and sinister humanoids fled into the walls and around corners.

"I think it'll halt them for a short time," the princess let the symbol fall onto her chest, leaning against the stone wall of the tunnel briefly. She waited until Eiko and Melfia had drawn up to her and pushed herself up off the wall, supporting the weakened sorceress on her other side.

A great rumble and a blast of air was all the warning the trio of elves received. Abruptly the light Vale had created rushed away and even the princess' crystal flickered and began to dim.

At first the elves could see nothing of the creature when they turned; they saw only the light and how it vanished as though the darkness was devouring it. But once the last of Vale's created light was gone they discerned an area of greater, deeper darkness, its shape mercifully indistinct but enough was visible for them to pick out a great wide maw and two lines of flat, dead eyes.

"Look away!" Eiko obeyed Vale's command without thinking. Even with her head turned away and her eyes shut she still saw the great burst of light: a bolt of glory spell flung directly at the creature's head. A great howl arose, painful in the confined space. A slender hand shoved the acolyte forward, "Now run!"

The young cleric's chanting was almost drowned out by the great rumble as the monster began to pull itself forward. A lightning bolt leapt from between her hands and buried itself in dusky flesh. She did not wait to see the monster's reaction but instead turned and darted away along the tunnel, her robes streaming out behind her.

Her chanting started again but she lost the spell as a scream ripped through the air. As she put on a burst of speed she saw the great boiling mass of shadow, great elongated figures, creatures with multiple heads, wicked claws, slitted eyes, spider-like hands and twisted spines. And beyond it…

A silver of light, not created by magic or torch but genuine daylight! The gate!

The two nobles elves were driving away the shadows with wild swings of Vale's sword and the young cleric began her chanting again.

A great line of fire roared into existence, sweeping down the corridor. As it died away the trio of elves began to run automatically to the gate, touching it, swinging it open.

A great rush of chill air and everything went dark. The great creature of shadow, scarred by Vale's holy attack, surged into the light to feed.

* * *

The screams broke Chel's thoughts. From the silver gate poured a great mass of shadow, something that seemed mainly wide, hungry maw, stretching upward towards the sky. The crowd of spectators ran, scattering towards the trees, holding up those who had brought weapons and were trying to advance on the thing against the press of the throng.

The Imperial Guardian scrambled to his feet, his wings opening, pushing his slight body up into the sky, magic already called to mind.

Abruptly the wide, hungry maw, opened even wider and an eerie undulating scream erupted from it. In the depths of its shadowy form there was a glimmer of gold, becoming brighter and brighter as the screams grew more and more pained.

Hunks of dusky flesh began to break off the creature, dissolving into the air. Chel hovered, a lance of crackling lighning ready in his hand.

The monster tried to flee back into the Run but flares of gold and platinum broke through its skin and its howls faded then ceased altogether.

Standing amid the dispersing remains of shadowy flesh was Vale. Her hair streamed behind her, free from her braid. Her eyes blazed and they burned with holy fire. Light, gold and platinum, lined her slender frame and her long tresses, radiating from her limbs and her head in a halo.

She looked up at Chel and a smile crossed her delicate features. Her arms raised towards him, she stepped forward.

Chel teleported himself just in time to catch her as the young cleric fell forward, her eyes closing and the light faded from her form.

* * *

**Jessi:** Ah, Vale-chan. She does faint a lot, doesn't she? I drew up her stats once before. Her constitution and her strength were not the best I must admit. Anyway, her new exalted feat is that of Holy Radience, which is described in _The Book of Exalted Deeds_.


	10. Chapter X

She had thought nothing of entering the Run that morning, so confident was she of her powers and her abilities as an acolyte

She had thought nothing of entering the Run that morning, so confident was she of her powers and her abilities as an acolyte. But now, out of spells, Melfia unconscious and both of them under guard by a masked cleric, Eiko was barely recognisable as that confident female.

She bowed her head, trying to hide her trembling lip and leaking eyes. She had indeed entered the Run, unafraid of the dead and the shadows that roamed it. But the apparition before her terrified her.

Eyes blazing, hair coiling through the air of its own accord, the Imperial Guardian was seething with barely contained rage.

"You foolish, little girl!" his pupils had narrowed into slits, "You empty-headed _child_! Did you _really_ believe your little plan would work? Are you naïve or simply stupid?" he shook his head, "A favoured child of Tiamet, your future queen? A cleric of power far greater than yours and you thought to simply coerce her?"

"My Lord, I never meant-"

"Are you now going to protest your innocence? To claim that you never meant to harm her? Your intentions and your motives at this moment are irrelevant. What matters is that you risked our Crown Princess, your companion and your own life by your mere presence! You disrupted the affairs of the Church and the Crown!" he paused, breathing hard. His fingers had lengthened into claws without his knowledge and had dug deeply into his palms, "You interfered in my own personal business. _No one_ has the right to touch and to harm what is _mine_," the punctures in his hands closed and he studied the streaks of blood on his pale skin.

"But my Lord! I did it for _you_! Only for you! I lo-"

"You do not," he lifted his bloody hand to silence her, "What you claim to love is a figment of your imagination – an idealised figment with little basis in the real world. You have thrown your clerical career away and all for something that does not exist," the white-haired immortal nodded to the masked guard who turned to open the door, "Both of you will face judgement at the hands of the Crown."

As Chel began to leave the room, Eiko sprang to her feet,

"My Lord, I forced Melfia to take me into that place. She would not have done so otherwise. She should not bare any of the blame for my actions; it's all my fault, sir."

The white-haired immortal paused,

"The ultimate responsibility for Melfia Byron's decisions lie with herself and no other. But… we shall take your role into account, at least."

He swept out of the room. Perhaps there was hope for the Tairon daughter yet.

* * *

_The forest was reduced to a green carpet and rivers to blue, silken ribbons. Clouds brushed Vale's flesh as she sped over the land and she let out a burst of joyous laughter._

_She felt a presence above her and she slowed down, until she stopped entirely, hanging motionless in midair. It was faint at first but it grew steadily stronger and she finally recognised it._

_She turned gracefully towards her guardian, a smile spreading across her face as she met those golden eyes that burnt like miniature suns._

* * *

Vale's eyes snapped open. Instead of gold, the eyes she met were the exact shade of blue as her own. Their owner moved back, revealing the fine, delicate features of her father. The infirmary room was lit with a soft golden light.

She lifted one hand in front of her face. Clinging to her slender fingers was that same golden light.

Kerova watched her as she moved her fingers through the air, staring at the light with wide eyes, then scanning the room for Chel.

"He'll be here soon," said the male elf, "You know how he worries," he smiles, "I think he's gone to bully the clerics about…" he sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at his daughter, "You're safe now," he took her hand gently, examining the light it gave off, "All in one piece," he sighed and softly patted the back of her hand, "No more of this fighting," at Vale's curious look he continued, "It may be selfish to ask it of you, dear heart, but I can't… To stand by and watch my only child put her life in danger. You are my daughter, Vale, and you are the future of our nation. You have Chel and I'll give you Armsmen, wyverns, sorcerers, whatever and whoever you want," he turned his pleading gaze onto Vale, "For so long after you left I searched for you amongst the mountains. I ordered the searchers to continue long after they knew… long after I knew that we had no chance of finding you. Fifteen years… it was fifteen years that I waited, praying to Tiamet for your safe return and all I had was the thought that Chel _might_ have found you, that you _might_ be with him!" he took a deep breath, calming himself, "And when you came back you put your life in danger, again and again and again. I know your abilities, I know how talented and how powerful you are, stronger than elves five times your age! I don't seek to belittle that or to cage you, but I just want you to cease this unnecessary fighting."

"Father, none of my fights were unnecessary. When the undead attacked us, I took action to save lives and I-"

Kerova raised a hand to silence her,

"But you did not have to be on the front lines. You should have been at the back or on the walkways, throwing spells. You could have offered your healing services at the Temple. But instead you put yourself in immediate danger at the front. Were it not for Gram you could have been easily killed. And you did seek out Shetoul's Run yourself."

"Father, I have no choice in the matter," she gripped her holy symbol tightly in her free hand, "should it be the will of Tiamet I must fight."

"Tiamet led our ancestors to this place and we pledged our worship to him in return. I am no stranger to our Lord of Dragons. Were the circumstances of my life different, if those circumstances had not forced me to my position at such a young age I would have followed your path and taken up the Star. I know that our Lord has a plan for you, Vale, but you are a healer and not a fighter. And our god knows that."

Kerova pulled his daughter into a fierce embrace,

"You and Chel. You're the only family I have. If either of you were to come to harm…"

* * *

Chel moved another handful of black rags, finally spying a flash of white. From the tattered remains of his robe he pulled the white hide. He couldn't suppress a cry of dismay as unfolded it.

It had been tucked into his robe when he'd collapsed in his home plane and now the formerly pristine surface was covered in broken streaks of his own blood. He spread the hide out fully on the floor and cast a small cantrip upon it. But instead of vanishing, the blood stubbornly remained.

Frowning he tried several more spells, and then resorted to scratching at it with his claws. Still the blood remained.

He sat back, his flawless brow creasing, staring unblinking at the hide and the streaks of blood. Some of the streaks seemed to terminate at odd points or move in improbable curves. Some of them seemed quite familiar…

The immortal's eyes widened and he tore his sleeve from his arm. In one swift motion he plunged his teeth into his delicate wrist, digging deeper and deeper until his fangs scraped bone. There was a sickening tear as the flesh slowly parted and Chel came away with his bloody prize clutched between his teeth.

For a brief moment there was a gleam of white bone amidst the gore, but that was soon swallowed up by a flood of crimson. Blood began to pour onto the hide (now not nearly so white). His long, slender hand flopped limply towards the floor – tendons bitten through.

All Chel noticed, however, was the hide and the vanishing blood and what was left behind in crimson lines.

* * *

The softly glowing elf looked up from her father's embrace as the door opened. She smiled as her guardian glided through, a Theurge following at his heels.

"_Kioshii_," a small smile crossed the immortal's face and he settled on Vale's other side, softly kissing her cheek.

Kerova shifted backwards, averting his eyes slightly. He may have had accepted the relationship between the two, but it was still awkward to see the being that raised him and his daughter together like this.

Chel took Vale's marked left hand in his right and gestured the Theurge closer. The cleric-wizard pulled the bowl and knife he had used previously from a bag at his waist. Just as before he made a deep cut in the immortal's unmarked arm and caught the blood. This time however, he also took the princess' hand and nicked one finger with the blade. A few drops of her blood joined that of her guardian's in the bowl. Almost immediately the tiniest spark of healing magic appeared at the minuscule cut, a near involuntary reflex on Chel's part.

The elderly cleric-wizard added the contents of a vial of holy water he took from his belt and mixed it with the mingled blood, dipping his brush into the concoction. With a flourish the Theurge erased the central symbol.

There was a moment when nothing happened and Vale's heart skipped a beat. Then abruptly everything came flooding back, Chel's mind suddenly joined with hers once more. Whether it was from the moment or from the stress of their recent separation all emotions seemed emphasised and tears ran freely down the young cleric's face.

She could hear her guardian shepherding the others out of the room and the door close. Then he was back, lapping at the stray tears, banishing the black markings with a spell. Vale laughed, playfully shoving him away, bringing her crying under control.

_I expected you to triumph, kioshii, but not in such a spectacular fashion,_ the immortal was running his fingers through the soft glow. Wherever he touched it the light curled and brushed against the long, slender digits like a kitten.

_What is this light?_

_A great gi__ft, my love, for only the greatest and most pious of clerics. I have not seen it in years. It is holy radiance,_ he sighed, the aura fluttering as he did so, _and I would have thought that it would have been in my colours._

_Do you have one?_

The immortal smiled, _I am a holy creature, Vale, _to demonstrate he ran his hand through the light again, watching it coil about him, _I hardly need one._ _I know how to use one, though. It works by will, whether you wish to concentrate it on one part of your body or to hide it._ A small frown creased his flawless brow, _I had thought, however, my father had already given you a gift._

At Vale's questioning look he took the ribbon-wrapped box from his robe and pressed it into her hands. The princess undid the ribbons, smiling as each one produced a soft, musical note as it was unravelled. Inside, catching the light from the holy aura, was a ring.

It was made of platinum and carved to look like a dragon that would coil around the wearer's finger. The dragon's head bore more than a passing resemblance to Chel's true form.

Her guardian ran a finger along it, sensing the magic in the metal.

"I know this as well. It will serve you well when we arrive at Calimshan."

"Calimshan?"

The white-haired immortal drew a folded hide out from his robes. His left hand moved stiffly and thick bandages had been wrapped around the same wrist. With his right hand he shook out the skin, laying it flat on the bed.

Revealed in the soft glow of Vale's arua and drawn in Chel's deific blood was a map.

* * *

**Jessi:** Next chapter: persuading Kerova and the trip to Calimshan!

As a side note I have a new story up called Doctrine. Feel free to check it out.


End file.
